


A Little Sugar Never Hurt Anybody

by beautifullyheeled



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Anal Plug, Daddy Kink, Doctor John, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Bottoming, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Lace Panties, M/M, Mild Kink, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Patient John, Penetrative Sex Toy, Praise Kink, Professor John, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Sugar Baby Sherlock, Sugar Daddy John, University Student Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, may-december relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2491034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullyheeled/pseuds/beautifullyheeled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's search for a quiet place to study gave him a whole new learning opportunity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Tumblr... /and/ those who KNOW who they are. Enjoy the decent into the Sugardaddy!Verse as I see it. 
> 
> *sigh*
> 
> Love and Light~ Diann

Everything was dull. BORING. The young men and women of his class were off drinking their brain cells away and capturing as many STI’s as humanly possible. The student clinic would be busy for the next week at the minimum with most of the idiots between hangovers and hasty, unplanned, unprotected sex. The thought made him shiver. 

No, he couldn’t see himself ever wanting to get that close to another human being. He had his own version of pornography, and had even found a particular ‘type’ that he enjoyed looking at. But the chances of him ever meeting a military man that was intelligent, and wouldn’t mind if there was an age gap, were slim. Most people weren’t intellectually stimulating enough to want to be around for more than a few seconds, let alone the time it would take to have an orgasm, with them, so self pleasuring and sex aides it was.

It wasn’t as if he were really missing anything anyway.

Sherlock pulled out his lockpicks and deftly unlocked the cottage door. It was in disuse, but cleaned and stocked at all times (mostly with dry goods), and contained plenty of reading material between the books in the parlor and the ones in the study. He’d found it on his tour in May, a tiny building tucked back away from the rest of the sprawling campus, but still within its boundaries, and immediately saw that it was for guests of the faculty or possible traveling speakers that came to lecture from time to time. 

Point was, it would be empty. Quiet. Not as bustling as the dormitories or as drab as that little hovel of a flat he currently occupied. No room for experiments. Only a hot plate and kettle. Not that food really mattered that much too him... It was the principle of the thing. If this were any other time, he would have been working at Bletchley alongside Turing and other marvelous code-breakers or being whisked away to program for NASA. Praised for his intelligence. Yes. His co-workers might not have liked him (not that he was not well liked now), but it would have at least been fulfilling. 

Now though, there was no great need for great minds and his was rotting. 

The kettle whistled, breaking his thoughts, most likely better for it. Sherlock filled the pot and set it on the small tray, his cup, saucer and a plate of the biscuits with the chocolate on top laid out perfectly. Deciding to settle on the long sofa, he brought it to the round side table and placed it just so before sitting and removing his shoes. Wouldn’t do to leave marks on the thing. He poured himself a cuppa and laid down, cracking open a book as he let his drink cool.

He must have dozed off, must have. It was obvious as he slowly awoke, slightly off-kilter as his brain was still sleep-addled. Sherlock blinked his eyes open and was met with a kindly, amused smile and deep blue eyes set in a face that spoke of desert sand and crackling thunderstorms. The man was slightly smaller than him in stature, but well defined under his clothing, one only had to look at the shoulders to see that. His hands were clasped, small as well, but looked steady. The scent of antiseptic was barely noticeable under the clean-milled lavender and cologne. 

Doctor then. Army. 

The ginger tint of the beard was at odds with the -silvered sandy hair, and also spoke of domesticity. It was very neatly maintained as was his hair... clothing. Sherlock found himself half-hoping this was a dream. Here, a man, that seemed perfectly suited to him. Looking as casual as could be in civilian trousers, check shirt, and cardigan; but Sherlock saw through that... the urban camouflage. No, this man was still a ranking military doctor as far as the both of them were concerned and Sherlock intended to take full advantage.

“Son, I asked if you were alright?” The warm tenor ran over his bones and set a fire in his belly like smooth scotch. “I assume you were opening the house for me? Bit tired from being out with friends?”

“No... no... friends. Out.” Sherlock shook his head in negation and sat up, still sleep-addled. How long _had_ it been since he last slept? “I don’t go out with... the others. Just studies.” He felt his cheeks flush as he caught the book before it could hit the carpet. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Sir?” His chuckle was warm too. “How about I refresh this pot and we have a chat about finding you here?”

“Yes, sir.” He sat up properly now, his finger shaking out his curls. He had to look sheepish. Innocently caught. Which he was, but Sherlock knew his normal acerbic behavior would not fly with this man. 

“So, mind telling me why you are here?” The doctor spoke clearly as his voice carried from the kitchen. “You weren’t vandalising... or using the house for... ‘recreational’ purposes.”

“No, sir.” Sherlock felt compelled to tell him the truth and it rankled. “I- use the cottage as a quiet space. To read. Get away from the braying and stomping of the other underclassmen.”

There were a few moments of silence where tin and china could be heard. “Why not your dorm room then? Or flat?” 

“Too noisy. Got kicked out over summer.” He couldn’t believe he was actually telling him this. 

The man came back through the arched doorway with a slightly larger tray with tea, two cups and saucers and more of the chocolate-covered biscuits. “Flat then? You don’t look homeless-”

“I have a flat. It is small, thin walled and... miserable.” Sherlock rolled his shoulders forward. “I can’t even do any experiments, notes. Not even blue-tack.” He made sure to sound sad, not sullen. This was a fine line to walk, he knew, but every bit of what he was saying was truth. “Here, well at least I can revise in peace and work on cases and not be-”

“Cases? What sort of cases?” The doctor fixed him with a neutral expression that was just this side of ‘very serious’. “You mean for your studies?”

“No, I’m revising Chemistry. I take on cases for the Met when they are out of their depth. Not all of the time yet, but there is a D.I. that takes me seriously.”

“Sounds dangerous.” 

Sherlock visibly bristled. “You’re an ex-military doctor... army most likely. Went in after becoming a surgeon, not before, so it speaks of wanting to be where you thought you would do the most good given your specialisation, so surgeon. That would have been... twenty years of service before you retired and decided to seek a more sedate life, possibly a wife. Somehow though, you missed it, the travel and excitement, so just recently you began working with Médecins Sans Frontières. Which is both thrilling and filling your need to help others that are in desperate situations. On your off time from that, you are partnered as a cardiothoracic as well as vascular surgeon and have decided to teach part time as well. Maybe to a very limited and or specialised group that would benefit from your specialised techniques being taught to them.”

The doctor sat up straight instead of pouring. “How did you-?”

“Simple, really. Your bearing, the tan lines at your collar and wrists, the difference of the silvered-sandy hair just beginning to darken to the same shade as your beard.” Sherlock dipped his chin towards his chest and looked up biting his lip before he continued. “Your hands. You are also ambidextrous, but you’re left dominant. It’s all about observation. I’m sure you understand.”

“That. Was brilliant; really brilliant.” The doctor licked at his lips as his eyes brightened. “I am floored.”

Sherlock felt himself pinken and scowled at the blush before collecting himself. “I- thank you?”

“Don’t receive compliments often, do you...”

“Sherlock, sir.”

“Sherlock.” The man’s smile was genuine and sudden. “You are amazing. My name is John, John Watson. You may call me by either my civilian title, sir, or professor.”

“Yes, sir. Was I correct?”

“Practically spot on, actually. I did leave my military career, but chose fairly quickly not to marry. To used to being a bachelor and other reasons I am sure you were too polite to mention when you were... doing what you did. Are you sure I couldn’t persuade you into a career in medicine?”

“What did I miss?”

“I’m bisexual.” John sighed as he said it. “The woman I would have married took exception and, well, maybe that was for the best.”

“Bisexual?” Sherlock swallowed hard. This was a fantasy that he needed to rein in before it got away with him. John was _interesting_. And nice to him. “There is always something.”

“Is there?” He smiled kindly now and poured for them. “Sugar?”

“Three, please.”

“You like it sweet then? How do you keep your teeth? Milky too, I bet; in the mornings?”

“When there is milk in, yes.”

John huffed a noncommittal noise at that. “Do you live on just biscuits too then? Who cares for you?”

“I do just fine on my own.”

“Says the young man who fell asleep on a sofa in a cottage that isn’t even his.” John sighed and stood, taking his tea with him. “Not on drugs?”

“No.” Now this had Sherlock’s full attention. “Just wore myself down.”

“Good. Would be a waste,” John sipped at his tea looking out the parlor window to the garden.

“Yes, my intellect would go to rubbish and I’d not be worth anythi-”

“Sherlock. Stop it.” He came over to him and sat on the coffee table. Placing his tea back on the tray, he took Sherlock’s as well before taking his hands. “You,” John hesitated a moment before speaking again. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

“What does it matter what I believe when everyone else already believes it.”

“Jesus, Sherlock.” John searched his face, his eyes moving quickly. “You can’t believe that. You, as a person, are important. All of you.”

He couldn’t meet John’s gaze. This was turning. Badly. “It’s just transport, sir.”

“Just transport? That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.” John was upset, his fingers gripping at Sherlock’s hands a bit tighter. “You can’t just... divorce yourself from your body. It’s not possible.”

“But I have.” His hands felt like they were on fire and his chest felt tight. “Caring isn’t an advantage, it’s a hinderance and only allows you to become vulnerable, sir.”

“Whoever told you that? Did someone-” John cleared his throat and swallowed. “Whoever told you that and had the audacity to ingrain it to the point that is your automatic response is a right tosser.”

Sherlock wanted to stand, but he didn’t want to lose the contact of John’s hands. That was ridiculous. His mind rattled something about ‘skin-hunger’ and he blustered back internally. He didn’t need anyone. This accidental meeting was supposed to possibly be a lark, a first experience with a man that just so happened to hit every single button. Like Christmas, a present just for him. For once in his life something so illogically random that seemed... perfect.

“Everyone, sir. Everyone.” He laughed, a harsh-sounding, half-strangled thing. “I think maybe it was a kindness, at first. To teach me to distance myself, but then the other children rapidly proved the words true... especially most recently. Adults too. It doesn’t matter... none of this matters-” Sherlock knew he was breaking down, he must have been exhausted and now John; his emotions were welling up higher than he liked. “Only the Work matters.”

“No.” 

“No? What do you mean no?”

John let go with one hand and reached out slowly, giving him ample time to move, yet he did not. His short fingers caressed at Sherlock’s jaw as a soft smile crossed his face. 

“No, Sherlock. None of that is true. You are... handsome. Educated. Very clever. I bet you even play an instrument or five, possibly compose because you like the beauty in the mathematics or something... Point is, your heart is what sets you on fire. What moves you. That brilliant brain? Just an extension, but not the sum.”

“You don’t even know me, sir.”

“No, no I don’t; not nearly as well as I’d like to, I think.” He licked at his lips. “I think you feel similar?”

Sherlock made a constricted noise and then stood, pacing the parlor to stop at the cold fireplace. This should be easy. It should be a ‘yes’ and then kissing and touching and _more_. Not panicking and half-hard erections. Not losing control of oneself. These _things_ were most often simply physical meetings full of passion. Why couldn’t he just agree? 

“I do.” He swallowed, hard. “I want to get to know you, sir.”

The hand on the middle of his back was unexpected, as was the soft sigh at his shoulder.

“I didn’t mean... in time, if you... then yes, Sherlock.” John turned him around to face him. “Yes, alright. You don’t even know yourself yet, do you? Look at you warring with yourself. Just... what do you need?”

“I’m not a child.” His pulse was racing and he swore he could feel his heart trying to beat out of his chest. “I have no frame of reference for this. Any of it. You.”

“Oh.” The doctor’s face softened even more, turning wistful. “Darling, you have no idea do you?”

“I’ve experienced myself... I’m not innocent,” Sherlock said, dropping his voice. 

“Masturbation and self exploration are wonderful.” John raised his hand and pushed the curls away from Sherlock’s eyes. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. You know what you like and then can show your lover, too.”

The words washed over him and went straight to his belly, feeding the heat and the butterflies that had been drawn to it. “Sir.” 

So much weight in such a simple word.

“Is that a yes in there somewhere, Sherlock?” His other hand came up to frame Sherlock’s face as the older man drew closer. “It’s alright if it isn’t.”

“Please, sir. Yes.” 

John moved glacially slow, it seemed, then he didn’t. Their mouths were together and it was warm. Dry and a little soft. Ticklish. He inhaled softly from the surprise of it; John chased it with a soft touch of his tongue as his thumb caressed Sherlock’s cheek. It was heaven. He followed John’s lead and opened, letting him in to explore, promptly losing his breath at the intimacy of it. Instinctively, his hands found John’s waist to steady himself.

“Easy, darling.” John backed away just enough to speak, softly kissing the student between speaking. “We can move, to the sofa, or my room. Wherever you want.”

“Your room?” Sherlock was certain, but his body trembled as he spoke, a shiver of anticipation running through him. John tipped up, ghosting his lips along until they reached his ear and lipped at the lobe delicately, tickling his face with the soft facial hair. 

“So very sweet, aren’t you?” Sherlock could feel the uptilt of John’s mouth against his skin. “Come on then.” 

The doctor peeled away and laced his fingers with Sherlock’s to pull him down the hall and into the bedroom. It wasn’t large, being a cottage, so the bed seemed to dominate the space. He felt his breath catch again as he began fumbling with his buttons. The sooner he undressed the sooner he could get under the duvet. It was silly, to be self-conscious. John had most likely seen hundreds of bodies all in different states no less. He was being a child and needed to calm himself.

“Woah, Sherlock. Darling. Slow down.” John chuckled low and came up behind Sherlock to wrap his arms around his waist, his chin nuzzling between his shoulders. “I’ve got you. We can take our time with this. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

“It’s just nerves,” Sherlock steadied himself and stopped his hands. “Adrenaline. Fight or flight response-”

“Excitement. Thrill of the unknown.” 

The doctor was most certainly teasing Sherlock now and he had no idea how to handle it. Was this normal, their banter? He had never heard of this, nor had anyone propositioned him so gently. How was he to handle the immensity of what he was feeling at this pace? He felt as if ripping his clothes of and flaying him would be better in comparison and leave him less bare.

Oh. 

“Sir, I feel exposed.” John hugged him momentarily before relaxing his arms again. 

“Go sit on the bed.” The doctor moved to the wardrobe and toed off his shoes and then unbuttoned his cardigan, hanging it against the chair closest to him before walking the few steps back to Sherlock. “It’s alright to be nervous. Let me take care of you, love.” His stable hands slowly unbuttoned Sherlock’s shirt. “Why don’t you put your hands where you would like them on me. It’s alright.”

Sherlock immediately grasped at John’s waist before letting go enough to allow his fingers to open against the blue check shirt. His thumbs dug into the muscle beneath them and he hummed a small appreciative noise in his throat that he realised had gone particularly dry. He must have lost a few seconds to the sensation because John was tugging at his shirt tails and pulling the fabric away from his body. It felt sinful. Freeing. Closing his eyes, he dropped his forehead somewhere against John’s torso as callused hands roamed along his back. Soon, John’s fingers were in his dark curls, not pulling, just massaging, as they ran over his scalp and then lifted to repeat the motion. 

“Lie back, alright?” He pressed against Sherlock then, at his shoulders, and Sherlock scooted back onto the bed properly and lay back as asked. 

“Let me, sir.” 

His own fingers coming up once again to find buttons, but this time John’s. The dark blue plastic whispered through each buttonhole as they both watched Sherlock’s progress. When it opened, Sherlock licked at his lips as his hands encountered the soft smattering of chest hair and still firm body. He wanted to kiss him, his skin. Taste the difference because he knew there would be. Without thinking, he pushed up on his elbows, letting go with his hands and opened his mouth to lick at an exposed nipple.

The intake of breath was sharp and deep. “Are you sure?” came the tight-voiced question.

Sherlock responded by lapping again, this time in a wider stripe, and humming. The texture and play of the hair and then not was lovely. John tasted clean. Not even of soap, just the ephemeral quality of skin, even though Sherlock could clearly smell his cologne still. It was dark and woodsy and fit John to a tee. He worked his way up to John’s mouth, tentatively kissing, asking for more. John opened for him and let him lick into his mouth as a needy sound was swallowed between them. His body flared with heat all over, his skin prickly and tight. Leaning back on to the bedding, John followed him not quite all the way down, opting to run his mouth over Sherlock’s throat and collar instead, whispering soft words of encouragement as Sherlock writhed.

“Not enough. It’s not enough,” he gasped.

“Hush, darling, I’ve got you.” John brushed his beard lightly over Sherlock’s chest before nipping gently at a hardened nipple. “You are gorgeous, Sherlock.” He nuzzled his way slowly down Sherlock’s torso, obviously distracting Sherlock from him undoing his trousers until he wetly kissed a now exposed hip as the material had ridden low. “May I, love?”

“Yes.” It was hard to speak. Everything felt crimson and floaty yet sharp. “Please, sir.”

“Good boy. Such a good, wonderful boy.”

His cheeks flushed heatedly as the words processed. He hadn’t heard so many abject words of praise since he... well, since he had constructed his mind palace, at least. Sherlock felt his cock surge against the finely made pants he was wearing and he thanked the cosmos that he’d happened to wear that particular pair. They were almost see-through; very breathable, but also gave John a bit of a show as they looked great on him. He’d feel everything as- 

John’s hand was on him. 

Sherlock’s head dropped to the pillow and he moaned and stretched. “Oh, _daddy_. Oh, _fuck_.”

The hand stayed still, just warmth and pressure against the sensitive skin. He felt cock twitch beneath John’s fingers and he whimpered. Couldn’t help it. Sherlock brought his hand up to bite it, but it was met with John’s other hand and brought to his lips. Soft small kisses were showered over the doctor’s callused knuckles as John palmed him, gently rubbing at his cock through the thin material. It was driving him mad. His hips rocked into the motion and together, they found a rhythm. A razor’s edge that was pleasurable, but so very much so. Overwhelming, his brain helpfully supplied. 

“That’s it, darling. Daddy has you.” Sherlock could hear the soft laugh and knew it wasn’t out of spite. No, it was like honey. Sweet sounding. He wanted John to do it again. “Do you like that, calling me ‘daddy’?”

“Yes!” He gasped out. “So much... I need more.” 

“Touch me, it’s alright. It’ll help. Wherever you want, Sherlock.” John straddled a thigh and leaned down, releasing Sherlock’s hand and kissing him full on the lips again, claiming him as his fingers deftly pulled down the younger man’s pants enough to grasp Sherlock’s cock fully in his hand. 

He didn’t know where he wanted to touch first. Eventually, the open halves called to him, reminding him that there was a wonder expanse of John that was bare to him. Sherlock gave in, raking his manicured nails along John’s back; digging in when John ran his mouth over his pulse and nipped at the tender skin beneath. Sherlock’s hips shuddered as he trembled almost violently, need coiling deep within him. He could feel John hard and frotting against his thigh. He knew then what he wanted. “No clothes. I want... not like this... nude. Naked. Skin, I want to feel your skin against mine, your cock hot against my thigh... not fabric.” 

The doctor pulled away slightly to hover just enough to touch their foreheads. “You sure, darling?”

“Oh, dear God, yes.”

“Alright. Alright, love.” John sat up a bit and placed Sherlock’s hands around to his belt. “Undo me then I’ll undress us.”

His hands shook as he quickly unclasped the belt, the leather swishing through the buckle, then onto the stays hidden just on the other side of the trouser line... then the zip. “Daddy... you are-” He couldn’t think of a word so he ran his finger along the outline of John under his pants. 

“Yes, I am very hard and very wanting; and it’s because of you.” John kissed at his fingers again before raising Sherlock’s hands to lay them above his head. “Hands here, alright? Just for now.”

Moving off of the bed, John quickly pulled off his shirt, followed by his trousers and pants leaving them on the chair he’d thrown his cardigan on. All Sherlock could think of was how every single fantasy he’d ever had was coalescing all at once and how beautifully it was doing so. It was hard to not touch himself. He instantly understood why John had placed his hand how he had. Sherlock was adamant that he’d listen. 

John made quick work of Sherlock’s clothing as well, throwing them in the same general direction before kneeling on the bed and running his hands, open palmed, along Sherlock’s body from shoulders to hips, to thighs, to knees. It was relaxing and nerve-wracking all in one. His body undulated with the touch as if it couldn’t stand to be parted with John’s hands. Maybe it was so. 

It didn’t really matter as his vision started going hazy as his breath had picked up. 

“Sherlock, darling.” He felt John nuzzling at him, his fingers against the opposite side of his throat. “Love, don’t pass out on me yet. Breathe. It’s alright to be overwhelmed. Just tell me.”

“Just-” Sherlock tried and then stopped, collecting his thoughts. “It’s good, sir. New.”

“A lot to process?” John sat up kissing his cheek. “Too much?”

“No, not too much. Too good.” 

They both laughed quietly. “Let me know if you feel that way again; overwhelmed.”

But he wanted to be. He just didn’t have the words to express what he needed. Or did he? Sherlock tipped his chin up and met John’s lips, claiming them as he wrapped his arms around his neck. That was better. More than, it was an anchor and not so floaty. 

“This. Touch me again, please.”

“Alright.” 

John trailed his hand down Sherlock once again, taking him in his hand and slowly stroking after holding him a few seconds. Acclimation. Sherlock understood again. John would take care of him. It was so much to trust him with, yet here they were and here he was so open and willing to be touched. He sighed and decided to relax into it. Let it be what it was. And at that moment, it was perfect.

“Sir, would you... do you have all the necessities here?” 

“You need to be more clear, darling.” He was stroking Sherlock languorously, his other hand busy with tracing light patterns on Sherlock’s skin. “Are you asking if my bedside is stocked? If I’ve had time to unpack my lube and condoms?”

“Yes, sir-”

“Ask me properly, love.”

“Do you have lube, sir? I’d like-”

“Tell me this: no one has had you, except your own exploration?” 

“No. No one.” John was rolling his foreskin over the head of his cock now and it was marvelous. “Not even what you are doing now, sir.”

“Reach over and get the lube only, there’s a good boy.” He moved down to kiss at Sherlock’s hips and stomach and pressed a thumb against his anus. “Have you touched yourself here, love?”

“Yes, oh. Yes, daddy, fuck, _please_.” Between John stroking him and just that bit of pressure he felt hazy and electric all at once. “Please, please-”

John removed his thumb and gently soothed with soft strokes against his thigh and stopped stroking. “Shhh, shhh, baby. Breathe. Knees up, heels against your plush bottom. Now.”

Sherlock gripped at the covers and begged with his body for more. Slicking his fingers, John curled them towards his palm. He murmured praise quietly as he grazed the pinked hole with his knuckles. The tip of John’s uncurled finger probed once again. Sherlock was cracking with need and apprehension; it was heady. He wriggled his hips impatiently with pent up need, then coughed out a strangled cry as John dipped, taking his cock gently into his mouth. A single finger became two as the doctor slowly invaded his body. 

“Legs up, darling. Shhh. Can you do that? Just over my shoulders?” 

He’d hang the fucking moon if John asked him to. “Yes, da-daddy.” Two became three just as the back of his knees hit the stable shoulders and he keened. Sherlock felt his body give; relax just that much more, allowing himself to be fucked by John’s ingenious fingers.

Sherlock twisted in pleasure at the fullness as John’s fingers slid further into him to press against his prostate. His hips jerked in surprise causing him to thrust as his slender fingers twined through John’s sandy-silver hair. The doctor’s free hand that pressed him back into the mattress to steady him was calm and sure. He whimpered in delight, John’s beard tickling his thighs as he fucked into his mouth. Sherlock bucked against the dual pleasure, but John kept pressing him back against the bed.

“Daddydaddy, oh John- Please!” he cried as his orgasm slammed into him like a brick wall. It was all light and not air and it was wonderful and nothing else in the universe mattered but them. This. Now. It was amazing. John sucked him through it, then beyond, causing aftershocks to run through his veins like wildfire. It was blinding. 

“Oh, baby, darling. So perfect.” John was kissing him and wrapping him up in his arms. He was no longer very slick and he could smell a hint of lavender in the air. Washed him then, Sherlock supposed. Which was fine. “Sherlock, beautiful love. It’s alright.”

He was being covered with the weight of the duvet; they both were, and then John was holding him again. Sherlock nuzzled against John’s chest hair and realised his cheeks were wet. Silly. It was ludicrous; tears. 

“Sorry, sir.” 

“John, love. After, you may always call me John.” Small kisses peppered his forehead and sweat damp curls. “Nothing to be sorry for. It’s fine. Normal too. Can be. Such intense thing, orgasms.”

“John.” Sherlock kissed against the deep thrum of John’s heart and snugged back into his embrace. “It was... I am sorry though... You didn’t-”

“Sherlock, my boy, sex is so many things.” John’s fingers ran lazily along his back in a soothing pattern. “Now sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See notes at end. Thanks!

Sherlock had returned to his flat the next day to collect himself. Captain John Watson, doctor turned professor- the crux of the whole situation, was blindsiding. The man was excessively clever in his own right, handsome in an unconventional way... and ex-military. Solidly built for his age, steady handed. Bluest eyes Sherlock had ever seen in person. He’d promised to go to dinner with the doctor, and he wanted to go to dinner with the doctor; but his memory kept pulling up Victor and Tobias. They were just... it hadn’t felt right. Even though they both had things that had drawn him in. At least Victor and he were still on speaking terms. Shaking his head, Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair; he had a date to get ready for.

As the tub filled, his thoughts were brought to that night. How much he had enjoyed the night previous, waking early to find John already in the kitchen preparing tea for them both. It was nice, familiar in a strange way. Something he was not used to, but had been pleasantly surprised to feel cared for by someone who was not his parents. 

He shook his head to clear it; Not a thought trail he wanted to go down either. 

No, Sherlock wanted thoughts of John only as he slipped into the hot water and settled to soak, to force his body to relax and his mind to wander amongst more carnal desires. He realised John had stretched him further than he was used to, so he was gentle as he washed. It was, in retrospect, a good thing. Now he knew what that felt like; that he liked it. Wanted more, and soon. Sherlock’s thoughts wandered, processing the whole encounter. Biting his lip, he gingerly inserted a tip of a finger, then worked up to two so slowly it was almost maddening, but he _wanted_ ; wanted John. John’s breath at his collar as he worked Sherlock open... just for him. 

A restless groan escaped him as he pressed inward. Too sensitive. It made him flush, all overheated and itching for _something_. A scrape of teeth, a touch of callused hands that weren’t his own. His cock twitched hard and he bit his lip. He was antsy, wanting to orgasm as he had with John, but worried it would feel... lacking. Empty? Half-cursing, he took his fingers out and pulled the stopper as he exited the tub, wrapped a towel around himself, and went through to his bedroom. He pulled the small silicone plug out from his bedside, then the lube. The plan had been to use it at some point; to feel the hedonistic glide within him for more than the few moments his finger normally was. To perhaps feel out if he’d like that sort of stimulation in a longer duration. Never would he ever had thought its first use would be to prepare him for someone else. 

His stomach did a flip at the thought of wearing it through dinner and only him knowing. Sherlock was nervous in a peripheral way, he knew he wouldn’t damage himself, but he had to keep his thoughts racing; amping himself up. Surprising John... yes, that was a good thought to follow. Would he enjoy the fact that Sherlock had tried for him? He sat on his bed then kneeled and flicked open the lube, re-inserting his fingers. It felt tighter out of the water and he breathed through it, his cock leaking against the towel. 

The plug was one of three, the smallest. Only a little under eight centimeters. Didn’t seem like much. As he looked at it, the circumcised mold of the insertable made his stomach twist again. This was clearly ridiculous, the need to please, but he’d also never been as aroused as he was the night previous. Even now, he was imagining John whispering to him. How brilliant he was... how good it would be with him already stretched. Sherlock took his fingers out, lubed the plug and teased it gently around his slightly relaxed hole, exhaling as he did so. The soft whimper was out before he could stop it, instead his breath quickened and he bit his lip _hard_ testing, ignoring the slight burn in favor of thoughts of John as he slowly pressed it all the way in. 

Better. That was much better. 

Sherlock conjured up the doctor’s steady hands; the way John might pet him as he dilated himself open for John. Would he enjoy watching Sherlock? Tell him to spread more, possibly lean forward on a hand? Lay back and let John press against it as he took Sherlock’s mouth in a melting kiss? His body was shaking, nonsense softly tumbling from his mouth until it was full both physically and emotionally. A curse slipped past his lips as he took time rolling onto his side, then covered up for a moment in his covers. His body quivered as he adjusted to the sensory overload, his cock rock hard. 

His imaginary John praised and soothed him. Because he would, wouldn’t he? Why did John _matter_. They’d barely met and yet his words... his actions had pinned something tender within Sherlock. Something fleeting and raw. Yes. He could do this. He _wanted_ this, and by god what a feeling that was. Gingerly, he rolled upright and then sat on his bottom groaning as the plug rolled over his prostate. He was going to have to deal with his erection or possibly embarrass himself at dinner. 

There was a knock at the door and he muttered to himself about Mrs. Hudson. Must have let someone up. 

Sherlock moved slowly, feeling over full and tugged on but blissfully hazy. The plug made walking difficult because he felt so open; exposed. It felt like ages to get to the door and finally open it, and was quite surprised that he was met with a courier in his doorway holding a package obviously meant for him. Interesting. He signed for the thin black wrapped box and then closed the door before opening it on the spot. 

Knickers. Whisper soft lace; baby pink. 

This was going to be a long evening, but maybe he could tempt John to leave before dessert. 

He went to his room and picked up his mobile. No messages. Searched through the box. No message. Clearly a gift for him to wear tonight, the message meant to be clear without needing any other. John was thinking about him today. About tonight. Anticipating. Sherlock dropped his towel and carefully maneuvered to put them on. His erection had flagged, but barely, the outline still prominent; the cheeks of his arse just peeking out of the back. They held on to him perfectly. Sherlock snapped a picture on his mobile and cropped it down to just a scant bit of skin and lace at his hip then sent it with the words ‘thank you’ to John’s mobile.

Less than a minute later he received a reply. 

_Cab will be there within 10. Very welcome, darling. -JW_

Sherlock dressed as quickly as he could, and ran product carefully through his hair styling it in its tousled but heavily curled way. He pocketed a small tube of lube along with his other items and locked his flat for the night. The cab was indeed waiting for him. This shouldn’t affect him the way it was. Closing his eyes, he went to his mind palace to help him ignore the swishy feeling going through him. It was all transport. He could do this. Soon enough, Sherlock was alighting from the taxi and heading into Le Coq et Chat. He settled his nerves as the door was opened for him and his coat was taken before shown to their table. 

The main dining area was low-lit and soft, the deep blue walls and dark floor gave it and intimate feel. John had been seated at a table that was semi-tucked away in a private alcove. He stood and met Sherlock, wrapping his arm around his waist briefly before pulling out Sherlock’s seat. 

“Good evening, darling. I am glad you enjoyed your gift.”

“It was surprising; very comfortable.”

“I figured you might want something softer against your skin tonight.” John smiled impishly as his voice dropped. “Still a bit tender? You are-”

Sherlock could hear the genuine concern in his voice. It was odd; but not odd for John obviously. He concerned himself with others, that was obvious; this though had an edge of possessiveness to it that made Sherlock want to blush. 

“I am fine, sir.”

“You may call me John; it’s alright. I would prefer a real answer though, not a dismissal of said question.”

“No, John I’m not...” Sherlock glanced at John, then down to the table. “I’m alright.”

“Good,” The doctor inhaled as if to say something but stopped, a warm amused expression crossing his face. “You know, this is, well it’s rather lovely isn’t it?”

“Dinner with someone you are interested with, compounded by the fact that they are not only younger than you, but that they are as mutually attracted to you, and against their own logic enamored is both amusing and ‘sweet’. The fact that I have little experience in the realm of the bedroom has also added a small amount of scintillation. ‘Deflowering’ and wooing me... I cannot say that I am impervious to your methods, John, nor do I wish to be.”

“Listen to that mouth on you.” John laughed happily. “Simply amazing.”

“Simple observation.”

“You sure I can’t talk you into a career in the medical field?”

They sipped the wine and enjoyed their first course, but by the main, Sherlock had visibly shifted a few times. John had noticed. The plug was stimulating him, and while keeping the pleasant feeling low in his stomach, it had begun to make him a little ill and uncomfortable. He politely excused himself, promising to only be a moment. Sherlock blushed, inwardly cursing the fact he couldn’t ignore the discomfort, and went into the men’s. His hands trembled slightly as he settled his palms on the cool marble counter. He could do this. They had, in all probability, another forty-eight minutes; it would be fine. A few deep breaths and the nausea should pass. No need to ruin the surprise. 

Lost in his thoughts, Sherlock didn’t hear the door open, but he did hear the small tsking noise and feel John’s hand at his hip. “Alright, love?” John oozed concern.

“I’m... fine. Just foolish.” He was not embarrassed. No. He was upset with himself. 

“If you are ill-” 

“Not ill, I wanted to... please you. Especially after... being. And then I knew I had made the correct decision when I received your gift, John. I knew.” Sherlock shifted again, the pressure of John’s hand was doing things to him, as innocent as the touch was. All he could think about was the illicitness of his knickers and the insertable. The soft moan escaped him before he could cut it off.

“Sherlock?” Oh, there was real worry there now in the doctor’s voice. ”Sherlock, are you alright. You can tell me if... whatever you need. There is no need to be embarrassed.”

“I’m. Not. Embarrassed.” He bit out as John’s hand moved to the middle of his back. “I had... have... a gift for you too-”

“Darling, you-”

“John, please. I’m... I just need a moment is all.” Sherlock wanted to look up, to meet John’s eyes in the mirror, but he couldn’t bring himself to. “I have never wanted to please someone before, not once since I was a small child. I found myself _wanting_ to please you.” The words sounded almost petulant. “I... might have over estimated myself.”

“What have you done?” John’s voice was right against his ear, soft but urgent. “If you- you need to tell me, Sherlock.”

His face was hot as he spoke. “A training plug, sir.” 

“A-” Sheer surprise filled John’s words. “Oh, darling, you shouldn’t have. Beautiful lad. All this time?”

“Yes, sir.” He’d defaulted to the honorific; combined with John’s sturdy hand, it soothed something within him. “I wanted to be better prepared if-.”

“So innocent,” The laughter was back as John comforted, his hand dipping low between Sherlock’s cleft pressing when he found the flat edge of the plug. “I can feel the lace... and this... what size?”

“Small, but shaped; sir-” Sherlock rocked his hips back against the stimulation. “ _John_.”

“Yes, love? That right?” His breath was hot against the shell of Sherlock’s ear. “Look at me. Come on... it’s all fine.” John continued to rub at the base of the toy, pressing at it. “Is it really too much? Do you need me to help you?”

He could feel the warmth stoked to a flame within him. “I want you, sir. Want to be indelibly marked. Yours.” Sherlock raised his eyes to the glass and was shocked at the picture they made. Him, properly pinked, eyes glassy with want, lower lip dark from biting; John full of mirth and echoing the need in a much crisper way Sherlock felt so deeply. “I wanted to be somewhat open for you, to make the process easier on us both.”

“Beautiful, clever you, to want to please me,” John kissed his jaw, his beard tickling at the lobe of his ear. Their eyes locked on one another. “Do you want this, so soon? I would wait-”

“Take me _home_ , sir. Please.”

“I’ll settle the bill while you claim our coats?” His hand gripped, squeezed. “Then I’ll take you home. Can you wait to remove this or is it hurting you?”

The toy shifting with the movement was becoming maddening. “I can wait.” He dropped his head back down as he held on the counter. “I’d rather wait.”

“Coats then, come on.” John rubbed his back gently. “There’s a lad.”

Sherlock felt soothed by the mild command even as his nerves jangled about making him a bit light headed. His stomach swooped at the praise that John was pouring over him, the words themselves kind. The meaning behind them, the feelings, unmistakable. He nodded and stood slowly, kissed John’s cheek then left to claim their coats. The thought of John having him further, of him riding the doctor’s cock, making him orgasm; just the fantasy made him hard all over again. Sherlock quickly tamped down on _that _line of thought as he reached the check and received their items.__

__“Thank you, darling.” John placed a hand on his back from behind a few moments later and murmured this thanks before taking both coats from Sherlock. He pulled his on swiftly, then offered Sherlock’s to him, helping to put it on. “Must keep you warm.” If John’s hand strayed just a bit, it was all fine._ _

__The cab ride was punctuated only by John’s quiet words of encouragement, Sherlock having lost his voice due to the constant minute vibrations or bumps he experienced during the short trip to John’s home. He moaned quietly, tucking into the doctor’s shoulder. His body felt so very full, stretched; the tip riding just on the edge of uncomfortable and pleasurable. Sherlock knew he was leaking against the lace. The stickiness was mortifying. As was his eagerness to have John see to the issue, possibly kissing along-_ _

__Sherlock slammed down on that thought as he felt his insides constrict with absolute _need_. John just continued to hold him close, ignorant of Sherlock’s thoughts, soothing him with his presence. He realised instead of being upset about the coddling, it too was sending a sympathetic sort of thrill through him. Before he knew it, John was paid the cabbie, helped him out of the cab and was herding him into the cottage._ _

__“Coats off now,” John began giving him short gruff orders. “Shoes as well; toe them off if you cannot bend down. Bedroom.”_ _

__Sherlock immediately listened; his brain and body buzzed, taut with anticipation and, if he were to freely admit to himself, more than a little trepidation. Oh, he knew his mind. He _wanted_ his doctor. Wanted those short fingers to trail over him. Warmth bloomed over his whole body as he opened the bedroom door and began to undress._ _

__“Did I tell you to do so?” A steady hand on his shoulder turned him, so he pivoted in the spot. “Did I tell you to undress, darling? Didn’t I say that _I_ would take care of you?”_ _

__The expression was something soft. Something Sherlock couldn’t quite categorise as John unbuttoned, removed, unzipped methodically stripping him down to the sweet lace that whispered against his skin. John’s eyes roved over his feverish body._ _

__“You are amazing, my darling. On the bed now.” His hands gentled across Sherlock’s back as he helped Sherlock to remain steady as he kneed up onto the mattress. “There... just there. Stop.”_ _

__“John?” Sherlock knew his voice wavered, unsure as to what John wanted. “Sir?”_ _

__He was up, on the bed, exposed on all fours; his backside closer to his heels than fully in the air. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was... it pulled on the plug, on the fabric at his hip; Sherlock felt as if he could hardly breathe with all of the different sensations._ _

__“Lovely, lovely lad.” John’s fingers played along the seam of Sherlock’s cleft, the pads sneaking just under the lace, stroking until they found the flat of silicone. “You want this out now? Want my fingers in you instead?”_ _

__The moan that escaped him was indecent. “Yes. Please.”_ _

__John leaned close and licked a hot wet stripe over the lace and the plug eliciting a yelp. The huff of quiet laughter filled the room as he lowered the lacy pants until they were tight around Sherlock’s thighs._ _

__“Stay still, darling.” Sherlock heard the bedside drawer open, then the whisper of things being removed, before it closed once again. “I will give you a choice. On your back, or as you are.”_ _

__Sherlock’s legs shook; he was unsure if he could move. “Here, Sir.”_ _

__John twisted the plug slightly, assuring it was still slick enough to move safely, and eased it out in three teasing pulls. The sudden emptiness had Sherlock gasping. John must have took pity on him as two fingers quickly slid back inside in it’s place. Warm, softer. Alive. So much better. He bit back a moan, his response to the doctors touch immediate._ _

__“Beautiful.” Sherlock could hear John dealing with his own trousers; the slip of a buckle against the leather, the shush of the zip and drop of cloth against the floor. His fingers never skipped a beat, his thumb rubbing his stretched skin as the others worked him open further. “Up on the bed more, toward the center. Come on, Sherlock.”_ _

__His arms felt like jelly, but he moved forward as John had asked; his elbows giving as he centered himself on the bed. “Yes, daddy.”_ _

__“Oh, my very, _very_ good lad.” The doctor purred as he ran his free hand through the dark chocolate curls matted with sweat. “You were so careful, so good for me.” _ _

__Sherlock couldn’t breathe against the onslaught of John’s hands and the saccharine words that felt as if they had weight; meant something between them. His cheeks were wet against his forearms as he mewled and rocked his hips needing more than he ever thought he ever would. Soft, wet lips found the small of his back and worked their way down, John’s beard brushing at the sensitive untouched skin and setting him on fire._ _

__“I want to feel you, please, daddy. Please.” His voice muffled against his arms._ _

__John answered by shushing him verbally as he continued to kiss his bare back up to his shoulder, adding a third finger, then retreating it. John repeated the motion as he nipped hard between the nape of his neck and the curls within his hand. “I don’t want to hurt you, baby. This is so new-”_ _

__His body shook hard as Sherlock groaned. The shiver rattling through him as pleasure washed over him. “Fuck me. Daddy, fill me.” He whined then sobbed as his cock pulsed, aching between his thighs. “John!”_ _

__“Darling.” The word was a command for attention. “I am fucking you, you gorgeous boy. Feel my fingers pumping in and out of you? This?” He ran them against Sherlock’s prostate and his cock began to weep. “This _is_ me having my way, love. You may always ask for more, but my cock in your arse, as much as _I_ want it, too, is not the end all be all, dove.”_ _

__“I am-” He couldn’t think properly. It was interfering with his ability to convey how the slide of the duvet against him was not enough, that the fingers were perfect, but that he _knew_ John coming in him would be that much more. “I’m asking.”_ _

__“Sherlock,” John groaned behind him as he felt the fingers pull out leaving him empty. Gaping. “Alright, love, alright. Just... stay as you are.”_ _

__The bed shifted and Sherlock could hear the rest of John’s clothing being discarded now that his hands weren’t busy on his body, then warmth as John splayed himself along his back and pressed the very tip of himself against the sensitive rim._ _

__“You sure, baby?”_ _

__Hands were rubbing his sides, then his hips as Sherlock just closed his eyes and felt the press of John’s cock against him._ _

__“Yes!” He cried as he pushed backward wanting more._ _

__Sherlock realised in a second that he’d pressed and was so open that John was partially sheathed within him before the overly tight, almost uncomfortable stretch made him falter. He rocked against it. Too much, not enough. Impaled and wanton and all of everything was right here between them._ _

__“Slow, darling... breathe for me.” John spoke softly to him, his hands clutched to Sherlock’s hips. As Sherlock began to relax again he thrust himself further in as he coaxed and kissed._ _

__Sherlock couldn’t tell if he would come quickly or not, the sensations were different and it scrambled up all the signals in his brain. A shift to re-balance himself had John dragging across his prostate and he whimpered. He couldn’t support his own weight any longer, and his arms gave out entirely this time._ _

__“Lay down, love, let me.” John pressed him to the bed with his own body, hands holding Sherlock’s wrists to the bed. His hips snapped against Sherlock’s, the angle change and friction of the blankets forcing Sherlock to rut against the brocade of the bedding. John spread his knees a little more, and the lace ripped to lay half on one thigh, the other side in tatters. He knew he was close. So open. It was filthy and lewd and _perfect_. Sherlock tried to articulate how close he was, but the only thing that came out was an aborted cry of John’s name as his orgasm overtook his senses. Sherlock breath slowed, humid huffs now against John’s fingers that still clasped at his wrist. The warmth of his ejaculate coated him, ruining the fabric beneath his body._ _

__He felt John’s controlled thrusting slow. “I’m sorry, John.” His voice was small._ _

__“No, no, darling...” The soft hairs of John’s beard tickled at him as he spoke. “It’s new. Don’t be upset. Here-” John pulled out of him and guided him over on his back, his cock still hard and wanting as he grabbed a flannel. It must have been one of the items from the drawer earlier, Sherlock mused as John dabbed him mostly clean. “So sweet... I’m going to fuck you now, love. Slow and gentle. I promise.”_ _

__All Sherlock could do was nod and wrap his arms around John’s neck to bring him in for a proper kiss._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I want to address something very quickly. If you are new to insertable toys, PLEASE be careful. Talk to the people that work at the shop they will help you and are knowledgeable. If purchasing online, please do so from a reputable source. You don't want bits breaking off and then a trip to the hospital. 
> 
> IF THINGS BREAK OFF/GET SUCKED INTO YOUR BODY: Get to a doctor as soon as possible. PLEASE. This is very serious.
> 
> Also, about the boys and their play: Yes, John is choosing to not use a condom. Yes, Sherlock is allowing that. This is also fanfiction.
> 
> Please be safe with your bodies, okay?
> 
> If you need anyone to ask about these things, you may always anon me on my tumblr: Beautifullyheeled. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and I am so happy that so many of you have enjoyed this little romp on the saccharine side! 
> 
> Love and Light~ Diann
> 
> Post Script:  
> There may be another chapter to finish this out as the three-parter I envisioned.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock woke to soft short hair caressing his shoulder. Warm lips were trailing a lazy line along his neck then back down towards his nape. The insistent hardness that was gliding along his cleft was not lost on him, he had his own tumescence to see to it seemed. It was rare for him to wake this way, but with John behind him, gently waking him in this manner, how could he not?

“Good morning, darling.” The words were humid against the shell of his ear. “Would you mind if we stayed like this? Just for a little while?”

How could he decline? 

“Mmmm...” Was all the sentiment Sherlock seemed to be able to verbalise.

“Good. _Good_. You slept very well, it seemed. All snug against me.” John’s voice was a bit rough with the dregs of sleep that still clung to it. “I had forgotten how wonderful this could be. A lazy morning... lover in your arms. Pliant and still relaxed from sleep.” His cock brushed again, this time with more insistence, just barely penetrating Sherlock before slipping away. “Hmm... that’s lovely. May I, love?”

He hummed an affirmative, still half-drunk on sleep himself. John pressed again, incrementally slow, to allow Sherlock’s body to welcome him gradually. It was elicit. He could feel the slick in his interior from the night before, John’s own emissions easing his way. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” The words were whispered low as he dipped his chin to his chest. The doctor’s name drawn from him in a lingering moan. “John...”

“That’s it, darling. Perfect.” John was slow in his taking. Savoring, if there was a word for it. Teasing, if there was another. “You’re so perfect like this. God help me.”

Sherlock ran one hand to grip at John’s on his hip, the other to lazily pull on his own cock. He looked back over his shoulder and kissed at John. John’s beard was dense against his lips as Sherlock found the slight morning stubble that had yet to be shaved off of John’s neck. 

The chuckle was not unexpected. “Oh, my lovely, lovely boy.”

“Your boy?” Sherlock gasped the words as the particularly well timed thrust took his breath away.

“Yes,” John slowed, held him close. “If you like.”

He didn’t know how to feel. Letting someone close. “John-.” 

“In time, when you choose.” His. John’s. The doctor began thrusting languidly. “Whatever you choose.” The susurrus words were kissed along his skin; set him aflame. “Let me take care of you, Sherlock.” John’s hand joined Sherlock’s and began a steady pull twisting their hands just as they crested over the exposed head, coating their fingers before sliding back down. “God, you are beautiful under me.”

Sherlock whispered John’s name over and over as the languid thrusts filled him. The pleasure of it all. Hedonistic and primal; the way John was rutting into him even as his lips stayed light and whispered endearments against his flushed skin. Sherlock’s own fingers twined around John’s as he canted his hips fucking their hands. Being fucked by John. It was the closest to... perfection... that Sherlock had ever felt. The frisson heat running through him like fire in his veins as his muscles twitched against the intrusion of John’s cock. His testicles drawing close. The tremor that began in his thighs burning upward, low into his belly as John cupped their hands at the cusp of him. 

Kept them there. “Too- John. It’s-”

He realised he didn’t have words for the feeling. It was so outside of anything he had felt. 

“Darling, let go.” John soothed even as the words were exhaled forcefully. “I can feel it... give it to me. Come for me. In our hands.”

The hot breath gave way to teeth just- there on his shoulder. He couldn't immediately recall the word. Nape... John was against Sherlock’s skin; it didn’t matter where because it was glorious. Sherlock felt his toes curl as he cried out then whimpered against the pillowcase, his face hot. Slightly wet. He was... misty. John pumped him fully then, fucking him in his earnest slow slide. Growling lowly. He let go of Sherlock’s spent cock to grip hard at his hip and keep at him until he orgasmed; spilling deep within Sherlock in stuttering waves.

It took several minutes for Sherlock to pull himself back together as John held him tightly; his cock still warm within him until it lost it’s tumescence. Still John held on. Sherlock finally turned in his arms and nestled his brow against a sturdy scarred shoulder. 

“John. I-” How to find the words. How does one? “Daddy-”

“You’re alright, Sherlock. My dear, darling, wonderful boy.” John kissed at him; pet his hair as he spoke. “Take all the time you need then I will clean us both up, hmm? Does that sound nice?”

“Yes.” Sherlock smiled to himself then. Words weren’t expected. John felt how he was in pieces and was giving him time to sort it all out. “Thank you.”

“No, no love. I should thank you.” His voice sounded a bit rough as he spoke, his fingers trembled as he ran them through Sherlock's riotous curls. “This. _You_ are such a gift.”

They laid together for a while just to do so, but eventually Sherlock began to feel sticky and a little used in all the right ways so John led them to his shower. It was largish, given the size of the cottage, but oh-so-very welcome. John twisted the hot, then cold taps adjusting them as the water rained down from the large showerhead. Sherlock reached out for the tubular metal attachment against the cool grey tiled wall. 

His modesty may be lost at this time, but he still could not stop the rise of colour. The blush on Sherlock’s cheeks made them a mottled red. “Is this to-”

“It is.” John responded as he pushed Sherlock into the shower. 

The water was pleasantly warm even against Sherlock’s sensitive skin. He hummed his pleasure and turned under the heavy spray to face John and wrap his arms around John’s neck. Their kiss was tangled; just as tangled as Sherlock was around John. His long leg was lifted in John’s steady hand, wrapped over John’s hip, their sated cocks and relaxed testicles nestled against themselves intimate in a way that had Sherlock dropping his head against the tile and rutting just to feel them slide together. John’s fingers found Sherlock’s loosened hole. Slipped in as his teeth found skin. Scissored against the pucker as John’s emissions slipped back out and down his own fingers, pooling lightly in the cup of his hand to be washed away against his wrist.

Sherlock bit at his lip, swallowing a moan. He was just this side of embarrassed. Maybe a little swimmy in his stomach from emotions he had yet to name. It was- it was _not_ too much that was certain. He groaned as he felt John’s deft stubby fingers slip further in. Just his skin and the water. John was whispering to him, but his body was buzzing. Sherlock was blissed out. The only things of import were the filthiness of John’s knowledgeable hand and the air in his lungs. Even the air was becoming secondary. The steam clung to them both as John ran his beard where he could along Sherlock’s chest still murmuring to him in a language he couldn’t _quite_ understand. Irrelevant. It was tender. His heart stuttered in his chest as he felt every nerve in his body spark to life. 

It was overwhelming. So much care. “Daddy-”

“Beautiful... this is... if it’s too much-” John was growing thick, but not hard, against him. His cock lazily aroused but still seated against Sherlock’s still mostly flaccid but twitching cock. “Want to take care of you.”

“It’s so. Are you-”

“It’s just us, Sherlock. I’m not... this is fine. More than if-”

Sherlock dipped his head and kissed at John, his lips tentative. “It’s fine. New.” How to explain it all to the man who was so thoroughly taking care of him. “Indecent. In a good way. I feel- _Oh_!” 

The soft pitched whine crept up his throat as John twisted his wrist. “Nothing is indecent between us. I’ll teach you everything, Sherlock. Darling. Aftercare is important, but it can also be it’s own reward. Just as sexy.” John purred against the shell of Sherlock’s ear.

His other hand pulled down the sponge and pumped some soap. The lather smelled of mint and lemon; a bit of something sweet. John began slowly sudsing Sherlock’s body down as he slid his fingers almost regretfully away. He soaped him, the lather lush against his body. As John knelt, he swept his hands along Sherlock’s back; turned Sherlock around. Pulled his hips away from the wall. Spread him and let the foam slip down his cleft to drip from his testicles. He reverently washed his way down to Sherlock’s toes, taking care even there before slowly standing again. 

Sherlock hummed and breathily spoke thanks as John rinsed him off just as lovingly. There was no other word for it. He was fully relaxed against the now warm tiles, his body becoming aroused in increments as John lathered his curls, then rinsed down his body again, this time detaching the thin metal wand from its holder against the wall. 

“This, is to help make sure you are extra clean.” The kiss landed on Sherlock’s shoulder as John spoke. “Want to kiss you,” His words prickled as his beard whispered against the wet skin. “Press my tongue in you.” John reached up and diverted the water and showed how the small holes created a sort of mini shower from the rounded end of it. “Now, I’ll not divert this much... this isn’t...” 

It sounded so very, very good. The heat that began radiating from his core had nothing to do with the shower and everything to do with John. _Experimentation_. The thrill of hedonistic behaviours. As if it was overly decadent and not-at-all-allowed, but still, Sherlock felt his cock pulse at the thought of feeling the metal within him. The feel of John’s mouth as the wand moved against him from cleft to root and back again, as it teased possibilities. 

He changed the pressure down to very low and ran the side of the wand along Sherlock’s well washed skin. Sherlock moaned, his eyes closed heavily as he shifted his hips out further in acceptance.

“May I?” John's voice was calm and sure as he spoke.

All Sherlock could do was nod before the breathy word finally escaped. “Yes.”

“Good, there’s my darling.” Wet nipping kisses dropped along Sherlock’s neck. “So very good. Need to hear you.” The wand slid around at his hip, then his cleft once again, warm and hard; his body twitching minutely as John caressed him slowly with his free hand to stop at Sherlock’s bicep and gently hold there. “Bear down, love. Relax for me again.” 

The tease of the slim metal just at the ring of his anus, the soft (warmth) of the water against him made his head swim and his stomach clench tight. Sherlock took a deep breath and relaxed himself against the pressure as the tip slipped in readily. 

“Oh my god!” Sherlock gasped loudly as his body automatically tightened. 

A few slow breaths later, mirrored by John, had him relaxing once again. John’s own breathing pattern had become heavier against him as he slowly worked just the first little bit of the long wand into Sherlock. The slush of the water was constantly running out of him. It felt odd and pleasing at the same time. Sherlock found himself holding his breath in anticipation of what they would be doing next.

“That. Is beautiful. Perfect, my darling boy.” 

John turned slightly then kissed Sherlock thoroughly. A few moments later, they were both panting as John gingerly slid the wand from Sherlock’s body and replacing it with his fingers; John continuing to kiss him as he finished rinsing Sherlock’s lower half. He reached behind Sherlock to turn off the shower, pulled him out into the room without missing a beat. John’s hands were everywhere. His mouth all consuming. He stepped away only for a moment to grab a towel and began drying Sherlock tenderly. 

Sherlock took the edges of it and began to towel himself. “You need to finish washing.”

“After.” John wrapped his bathrobe around himself and left off the tying before taking Sherlock’s hand. 

“So... do I-” This was all new and Sherlock felt his nerves work against the hot buzz that had built up in the shower. His cock was responding, the light torture of the towel around his hips enough to make him whimper as John arranged the bed and then reclined against them and the headboard. “I don’t-”

“What you are going to do darling, is drop that towel and come straddle me. Facing my feet.”

Sherlock nodded then, dropping the towel along the foot of John’s bed, and kneeled up onto the mattress. His whole body felt electric. “Like this?” He turned, looked back and gingerly sat over John’s extended legs, his cock nestled against John’s thighs. 

“Yes, just like this, darling.” John held him close, his front to Sherlock’s back. “In a moment, I’m going to have you kneel up, and I’m going to lower myself some.” His hands generously skated along Sherlock’s chest as he spoke. “I’m going to kiss you, spread you open with my mouth. My tongue. Would you like that, love? Nothing too rough, I don’t wish to overuse your body. Make you sore.”

"Yes," The words rushed out as he began to tip forward, John's fingers pinching gently at his sensitive nipples. "Yes, yes."

"There's a lad, come on then." He chuckled quietly, a warm amused sound that Sherlock wanted to hear more of. His hands pulled and help settle them into place. "If you could only see yourself. Next time, we'll move the mirror so you can watch."

Sherlock whined then, the picture immediately in his mind's eye.


End file.
